


Oldest

by QueenRedhead



Series: Fear of Thunder [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Reflection, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRedhead/pseuds/QueenRedhead
Summary: In which Thor is as old as he's ever been, and Loki has never been farther away.





	Oldest

**Author's Note:**

> And here's the last version, taking place between The Dark World and Ragnarok.

For what feels like the the thousandth night in a row, Thor doesn’t sleep. He tries. Oh, how he tries, tossing and turning and shifting his blankets and adjusting his pillows before finally coming to the conclusion that it just isn’t going to happen. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and sighs. Then, knowing he’ll soon grow bored of laying around in the dark, he picks himself up out of bed, grabs Mjolnir, and heads outside to find himself a place to sit.

Were he on Asgard, he would go to his usual late night musing spot, the Bifrost. He would sit on the steps leading up to Heimdall’s platform, and they would quietly enjoy each other’s company while staring off into space. Maybe Heimdall would ask what weighed so heavily on Thor’s mind that it prevented him from sleeping. Maybe he would wait for Thor to find the words he needed to bear his heart and soul. Maybe neither of them would say anything at all, but they would still walk away from the night feeling closer than they were before.

Were he on Asgard, he would go to Heimdall and see where the night takes them, but he isn’t. He’s in some small village on some small planet galaxies away, a rest stop in his hunt for colorful stones that always seem to evade him. The locals had been kind enough to give him a place to rest and food to eat, but even as he tries to relax, his racing mind won’t allow him respite. He has too much to think about. Too much to remember.

That’s why he finds himself on the side of some grassy hill, breathing in cool night air, carefully polishing his hammer by the light of twinkling stars. It’s certainly not as bright as daylight, but he’s polished Mjolnir so many times that every dip and crevice of its surface is committed to muscle memory. He could do this with his eyes closed, but he doesn’t. He focuses on every tiny circular movement of his fingers without actually watching them, listens to the sound of the planet moving around him without actually listening. His mind begins to wander.

He thinks of Jane Foster. When isn’t he thinking of Jane Foster, at least a little bit? She’s on Earth, deep her studies, making life-changing discoveries. He thinks of her confidence. She’s always so sure of her abilities. She knows she’s smart, and she doesn’t pretend otherwise. He’s known so many warriors in his life, yet she stands in a league of her own. Breathtakingly.

She doesn’t wait for him anymore. She expects him back. He’s just about due for another visit. Maybe he’ll start that journey in the morning.

He thinks of Asgard. He thinks of the friends he left to defend it. He thinks of his father. The Allfather. The man generous enough and strong enough to let his son abdicate the throne. He hasn’t gone back to see him. Is he in good health? Is he happy? Might he be lonely ruling Asgard on his own?

With some effort, he thinks of his mother. She’s in Valhalla now. He has to remind himself of that over and over again. Not because he might forget, but to keep himself from remembering that she’s no longer close enough to touch. He’ll have to wait thousands of years before he can hug her again, before he can press his face into her hands and tell her how much he loves her, how much he’s missed her. How horrible it is to need your mother’s advice but not be able to have it. A tiny droplet lands in the path of his polishing and is quickly wiped away.

His thoughts dance around the central-most cause of his insomnia until the soft light of dawn gleams on Mjolnir’s surface. He’s pleased to have done such a good job polishing that he can see the shifting colors above him without having to look up, yet he's compelled to witness these colors in their entirety. He moves his gaze skyward.

Thor has seen countless sunrises on hundreds of different planets throughout the cosmos, but something about this one inspires him to linger, to sit back and watch it unfold. Warm shades of orange, pink and purple dance along the wispy morning clouds. The sky gradually brightens from midnight indigo to sapphire to light powder blue. Then, finally, the sun begins its slow climb past the horizon, bringing with it rays of aureate light that shimmer and shine across the hillside.

It’s simply gorgeous. A scene straight out of a painting, which is a funny thing to think when it’s real and happening in front of him. Sunrises existed before anyone ever thought to capture them on canvas, so maybe nature is the true artistic masterpiece, after all. Loki would likely have thoughts on the matter. He always did have strong opinions about art.

Thor chuckles to himself. Every day, as much as he tries to stay busy and distracted, something always comes along to make him think about his brother. The mental dam he’s struggled to build starts to come apart, flooding his mind with repressed thoughts and feelings.

Then, it’s like Loki is standing in the lush grass in front of him, framed from behind by a golden aura. 

This version of him looks healthy. No greased back hair, no dark half-moons hanging under his eyes, no paleness so persistent it steals the color from his lips. A younger Loki. The Loki Thor conjures whenever he wants to remember a better time.

He sets Mjolnir aside. Almost smiles.

“It’s different now,” he says. His voice is soft, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly will cause the apparition to vanish. “The world is, now that I know you’re not in it anymore.”

His brother says nothing, which is to be expected.

“It was different before, too, when you were just missing,” he continues. “But not as different as now. I’m not sure how to describe it. It’s like I can’t look at things quite the same way.”

He looks down, running his fingers through the grass by his leg.

“Were you ever afraid of me?” he asks. “I always told myself I was the perfect brother, but that wasn’t true, was it?”

Scenes pass before his eyes. All the times he belittled his brother, teased him and insulted him in front of his friends, truly convinced he was playing some kind of game. All the times Loki silently went along with it. All the times his laughter must have been forced.

His fist clenches around a clump of grass.

“I was prideful.” His grip tightens. 

“Aggressive.” The roots begin to give way.

“Hostile.” It all comes loose into his fingers. He stares at it, and, after a brief silence, his jaw relaxes.

“I wanted every ounce of fame and glory for myself.” Turning his hand, he lets the grass fall little by little back to the ground. “I was arrogant. I was selfish.”

His hand falls. His chin quivers. His vision blurs.

“I hurt you so many times without even realizing it, didn’t I?”

Tears race down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, brother.”

He’s not sure how long he sits there, gasping and trembling. Tears fall for his brother. For his mother. For the years he took for granted, vainly believing the world would always bend to his whims and never change without his permission. His heart aches for all of this, and also for himself, for even the gods must indulge in self-pity sometimes.

Eventually, the sobs subside. They always do. When he looks up again, his brother is gone, and the sun is well-established in the sky. His hand finds the handle of his hammer, and he stands slowly so as not to lose his balance and topple over. Then, after wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt, he carries himself back to his provided lodging to gather his things and continue on his way. He’s expected somewhere, after all, and he doesn’t want to keep them waiting.

  
  


On the other side of the universe, Odin stands at his bedroom window. Dark clouds are moving into place over Asgard, heavy with rain and commotion. He observes this quietly, thoughtfully, as the first flash of lightning strikes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you want to watch me cope with stress by cracking jokes (or you want info about requests), you can follow me on Twitter: [Queen_Redhead](https://twitter.com/Queen_Redhead)
> 
> Or, if you have any questions about me or what I do (especially if you want to remain anonymous), here's my Curious Cat: [Queen_Redhead](https://curiouscat.me/Queen_Redhead)


End file.
